Baby Godzilla
by Rinne
Summary: During a hunt gone wrong, Dean waits for help. COMPLETE


Title: Baby Godzilla

Rating: PG-13 (swearing)

Genre: Gen

Spoilers: General season 1

Word count: 1008

Disclaimer: Own nothing, not being paid

A/N: Huge thank you to lunardreamed and starrylizard for betaing. I wrote this a while ago, but never got around to typing it and cleaning it up.

Summary: During a hunt gone wrong, Dean waits for help.

It was a beautiful day. The birds were chirping cheerfully, the sun was shining, and, oh, there was a squirrel happily frolicking around on the forest floor. If Julie Andrews had been there, she would have been twirling around like a mad woman, singing, and the birds would probably have landed on her fingers and joined her.

And yes, Dean was totally aware that he was probably combining at least two movies there. He wasn't admitting to having actually _seen_ the movie with Julie Andrews twirling around (although he had seen it, but it totally wasn't his fault. There was nothing else on and there must be something demonic about the woman, because he couldn't turn the TV off, not even after that stupid song about deer and sewing, and wasn't _that_ a weird combination of things) but he definitely would admit to having seen that movie with the sugar and the umbrella.

It had been Sam's favourite for three years when he was a kid and Dean was not going to let go of a chance to make fun of Sam and his dad. Sam had refused to have any medicine in that period without a spoon full of sugar and the song being sung to him. Dean had always been conveniently in the bathroom at that time – far enough away that his dad couldn't order him to do it, but close enough that he could snigger madly at his dad's singing. Dean didn't doubt that all three of them could still spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

But he digressed. Today was a beautiful day to die; that was his point. It wasn't a good day, though. No day was a good day to die. That was one warrior philosophy that he couldn't quite get behind. If you were happy to die, you couldn't keep the people around you safe. You needed to value your own life to value theirs. Of course, that didn't mean that he wouldn't jump in front of a bullet for Sam or his dad. He would, in a heartbeat. But if he was smart, he'd take the bullet without getting killed.

Today wasn't looking like a smart day.

The squirrel was still frolicking, getting closer in its search for nuts since he wasn't moving. He laughed rather hysterically in his head – no nuts here, well, not ones that the squirrel would be interested in – but didn't have the strength, or possibly the ability (he didn't want to think about that) to laugh out loud.

_He couldn't hear his dad anymore, so he hoped that he'd managed to catch up to Godzilla. His dad better be right, otherwise he was screwed. The really annoying thing was that even though he'd pretty much lost all feeling in most of his body, the slashes it had left on his chest still burned and stung like a bitch._

The squirrel was so_ happy_. He couldn't remember the last time he was that happy. He couldn't remember if he'd ever been that happy.

Something was wrong. He was dizzy, his heart was pounding, his head was about to explode.

"Oh, shit, shit. Dean! Breathe damn you. This was supposed to work, you son of a bitch."

Sam was standing in front of him, blocking the light from the sun, like he always did. He was just so damn huge and absorbed everything around him. He was a Sammy black hole and Dean was a tiny little bit of Dean matter getting pulled in, distorted and deformed, broken for all eternity. He had gone too far; he was stuck, never could escape, even though Sam had moved on.

_What was the point? He might as well just give in, quite fighting. His dad didn't need him – he had the hunt. It drove him, was all that he cared about._

_"Breathe, son, goddamn you. Breathe."_

_He could just close his eyes, let go. There wasn't a reason to hold on. Sam was okay, nobody needed him. Why did he have to keep on fighting? Why was it always his job, his responsibility?_

_His dad was so worried for him, so scared. But it was okay – it felt peaceful. Dean smiled at him and closed his eyes._

"Damn you, Dean, you are not doing this to me. You hear me, I'm not letting you go, you son of a bitch. Fight, damnit!"

_His whole body was on fire. Everything hurt, stung, ached. Even his eyelids. He opened his eyes, groaning. It _hurt_. His dad was leaning over him, blocking out the sun._

"Dean?"

He was looking at the flashlight Sam was holding over his face and the light hurt. He tried to move his arms, to bat the light away, and groaned. Hell seemed like a better idea right now.

"You scared the crap out of me."

Sam was pissed, which was so incredibly unfair. He wasn't the one lying on the ground with the worst pins and needles ever. Well, equal worst.

"Did you get it?" He wheezed, nearly choking on some phlegm.

_"Yeah, I got it." His dad ran his hand tiredly over his face. "Almost lost you." His voice was quiet, gruff. "You'd forgotten how to breathe."_

"It's okay, Sam. I'm okay."

The flashlight moved slightly as Sam shook his head back and forth. "I thought it didn't work. I thought Dad was wrong. _God_, Dean, you scared the crap out of me."

"I guess I just forgot how to breathe," Dean said softly, flexing his toes at the same time. It still hurt, but it shouldn't take too much longer for it to disappear. Baby 'Zilla's poison seemed to be fading a bit quicker than mama's had.

"In the morning, we make sure she hasn't reached puberty yet. I'm not doing this again." He groaned. "I've got pins and needles in my butt. So not nice."

Sam laughed, slightly shaky. "I really don't want to know."

At least the scars wouldn't be as bad, this time. Smaller body equals smaller claws and teeth.

"Hey, did you see that squirrel?"


End file.
